


Ode to Creature

by Rallieroarz



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6454960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rallieroarz/pseuds/Rallieroarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly a year after the events on the mountain following Hannah and Beth's deaths, Mike accidentally confesses to Sam that he didn't actually see the wendigo that took Josh kill him. Horrified at his secrecy, and determined to find out what really became of Josh, she returns to the mines. She made the mistake of not making sure once already, with Hannah and Beth. Never again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          Sam was well aware that this was a terrible mistake.  
  
          Sweat beaded over her brow despite the snow all around, mouth pulling thin in uninterrupted concentration. Under her boot the gravel ground loudly, crouched leg slipping a bit on a hard, icy layer of dirt. She payed it no mind-- her sharp stare was fixated on the gaping entrance of the mines.  
  
          Sam was becoming increasingly well aware this was a very terrible mistake.  
  
          The vibrating of the cell phone in her backpack pocket made her jump. She retrieved it slowly, already irritated. It took her a moment to fumble with her mittens before managing to yank them off and unlock the screen.  
  
        _Jesus! Mike, again?_ He’d called her, what? Six times, since the bus. Three more times during the ride. Oh- Wait, she had even more missed calls. Ash, Chris, Matt…  
  
          Had he told everyone, since realizing her plan? Certainly seemed that way.  
  
          She didn’t understand how he could possibly expect anything different from her. If he hadn’t wanted her to come back to his place, he shouldn’t have told her the truth. No, he should have. Way earlier than he did, in fact. Frankly, she couldn’t believe he’d lied to her for so long. Not about this.  
  
          Not about Josh.  
  
          It had been exactly one day since Mike had accidentally mentioned, over a glass of tequila, that he hadn’t seen Josh die in the mines. That a wendigo had dragged him away. Only a day since Sam left Mike alone in his apartment, slamming the door behind her while he shouted slurred nonsense about missing search parties. Only a day since she’d thrown a backpack of hiking supplies together, and yanked her skiing attire from the closet shelf. A short twenty four hours after she’d jumped to possibly the most irrational and stubborn conclusion of her entire life.  
  
          She reminded herself for the hundredth time that he was probably dead. No, he was most certainly dead. It’d been so long since that night. Since the last time she’d seen his face, touched his hand. Jesus, that short lived high five in his lodge basement seemed a lifetime away.  
  
          She locked the phone without listening to any of the frantic voicemails her friends had sent, shoving it back into the backpack and swinging the bag back over her shoulder.  
  
          The mouth of the cave that fed into the tunnels hung ajar, like the unhinged jaw of a serpent, dripping and jagged and wet. Starving. A hunger so ferocious she could nearly feel it rumble deep in the core of every bone. Her mind played tricks, puppeteering shadows as they shifted into beasts, dancing just out of sight. Waiting for her to be stupid enough to come in. It was still daylight. She could turn back, sprint off of the mountain, take the lift and never look back.  
  
          Josh’s face, dumbstruck and distant as he stood next to Mike the last time she saw him, drifted from the depths of her memory. So sick, so unawares. _‘You bring Josh back the way we came, and we’ll meet at the lodge.’  
_  
          And then he was gone.  
  
          If she went in there, she was bound to see one of them again. One of those things. And they would try to kill her. Rip apart her limbs and tear her flesh into ribbons. Bend her in half like a flimsy twig. Mount her head like a mantle piece, pop her eyes like balloons.  
  
          Her teeth clenched, knuckles tightening over the ice cold stone she crouched behind. She had to be certain. She’d made this mistake once, with Hannah and Beth. _Never again._  
  
          She was going in.


	2. Chapter 2

           She’d nearly forgotten the stench and feel of the mines; mold, and rot, and the distinct sting of cold air up both nostrils. More so, she’d nearly been able to fully repress the offensive, stagnant air in that underground horrorscape, and block out the way each little drip of melted snow that echoed from the tunnel depths physically rippled the air against your skin, like the corruption of a lake’s glass surface.

           The strangest thing about the mines, something she hadn’t realized before, was that there was no light. It didn’t even spill in through the cave’s mouth-- It was light, outside, and then it was darkness imbued. The line was visible enough suspended in the air to reach out and mimic pressing your hand to glass.

           This wouldn’t have unsettled her so deeply if didn’t feel so… _supernatural._ So sinister.

           Understandably, she found herself reluctant to press forward, stiff legged and wide eyed. One foot in the cave, one foot out.

           It would have been safer to come in through the sewer grate in the penitentiary basement, but the mountain had been sold off to some big name ski resort. From what she could tell by the infrastructures of ski lifts she’d seen on the way up, skeletons silhouetted against the dimming sky, they’d only just begun construction. She had half the mind to torch it all. How many more lives could this mountain claim? Destroy? How many _would_ it?

           She didn’t intend to add to that number, or find out.

           The walk up had been...eerie. Desolate. Trees, looming and icy at their cores, staring down with bulging eyes and twisted mouths made of knots and bulbs that swelled like tumors through the interstices of the once intricate bark. She’d seen a familiar squirrel on the way, having stopped by what used to be that shotty shooting range. As if the little guy was waiting for her, amidst abandoned can and bottle.

           Or maybe she was thinking irrationally, and it was an entirely different squirrel. She didn’t know.

            _Focus, Samantha._

           She groped through the dark, hand ghosting along chilly, damp walls jutting with earthy tangles of root and debris. Each footstep was ginger, touching the neon toe of her tennis shoe against the ground before rolling back on the heel. She found herself fighting to level short, panicked breaths, paranoid with the volume of the pulse that throbbed in both temples.

           Had the mines always been such a labyrinth? Winding past a support beam, the girl tightened her backpack.

           Now was not the time to doubt herself. She did, anyways. How could she really be back down here? _Intentionally?_ Weren’t all of the nights cut short by brutal nightmares, or the times she’d heard a bump in the night and laid still unwilling to let her chest rise visibly until sunrise, enough? Too terrified to move or blink or breathe in the deep dark of her bedroom, only knowing she was safe when the morning light peeked through her window. After these short couple of months trying to feel back at home in the normal world, overcoming countless therapy sessions, why would she ever, ever come back to this place?

           Again, she thought of Josh. How they’d found him standing, raving, in the middle of an empty cavern. How lost he’d seemed. None of that night felt real.

           Maybe… in part, Sam had to prove to herself that it was. Felt like she was one of the only ones left who really believed it anymore.

           The group was different, now. Hell, half of them hadn’t spoken to her since the incident after Josh’s funeral. She guessed she was different, too. The others seemed to think so, which she knew only after overhearing Ashley make it a point to tell Chris, not really thinking that Sam could possibly be in earshot.

           ‘I dunno, Chris.’ she’d said, eyebrows pulled up over round eyes. ‘She’s been so- _dark._ I’m worried!’

           Chris had only nodded, frowning a bit. ‘I mean, she’s been through a lot, Ash. We all have, and-’

           ‘She’s keeps pushing herself.’ Ashley pointed out, and she’d been right. Sam had spent twice the time she usually did physically training, sometimes disappearing for days at a time on long hikes, or climbing expeditions. Sometimes she’d just run and run and run until her legs gave out, and she was forced to pause for an hour or so.

           “She’s mourning. We all are.” He’d excused, seeming irritated, somehow. Ashley didn’t reply. Sam understood-- there was no guarantee that Ashley was in mourning over Josh. She never spoke on the subject, mostly focusing on getting Chris through everything she could.

           Sam had decided to come in then, ending the private conversation.They hadn’t thought she could hear-- she didn’t blame them. How could she, when she technically _was deaf?_ Legally, at least. While at the time she hadn’t realized it, the medical team that rescued them assessed she had suffered some sort of trauma, presumably when the lodge exploded, that had permanently damaged the hearing in her right ear, and lessened her ability in the other.

           She’d known better. Sometimes, even in her entirely deaf ear, she could hear that wendigo screeching. Smell its breath, blasting hot against her neck. No lodge explosion took that from her.

           So understandably, she tried to make as little noise as possible.

           She knew vaguely where she was going, based on a memory jumbled with fear. That night was primarily a blur for her. She was thankful for that. Little moments were clear, like Mike rescuing her from that chair, and the horrible, candlelit walk away from her bath.

           The sound of Josh getting sawed in half over that projector, all the while taunting her through an intercom, would never leave her.

           A sudden, unseen divot in the ground caught her foot, and she tumbled forwards. The yelp that worked its way up her throat was stifled by both hands clamping over her mouth. Her muscles locked, legs shaking.

           As if in response to her fear, something deep, deep in the mines wailed. The sound echoed, like the eerie cry of a siren, ricocheting off the walls.

           Sam gulped, wiping sweat from her brow. She wondered, if she’d managed to hear it, how close the source was.

           No time to dwell on it. No quitting now.

           Just think of Josh. He deserves a closed story. Press on.

           She was naive enough to let herself, if only for a moment, believe that maybe his story didn’t have to be closed. No-- that wasn’t fair. It’s been a couple of months. He couldn’t have survived, everything set aside, without food. Unless, like Hannah-

          _Stop._

           The next thirty minutes was torture, freezing with every shift in the dark, tension churning so thick in the air she could hardly bring it down her throat. Soon, the tunnels expanded, cool air rushing up from beneath as she adjusted to the low light. A cavern opened up past a low divot.

           She crouched, trying to see further in, and hoisted the cumbersome bag further over each shoulder. Sam unlatched a middle strap on each side and buckled them across her chest. Her small nose scrunched. This meant business.

           Lowering herself into the ditch was easy. Squeezing beneath the low hanging wall into the cavern was not. On the way through, the padding on her hood snagged and she was forced to yank it free, ripping the faux-fur lining. Somewhere above in the spacious opening, water dripped in a steady stream. Her backpack slipped and brushed the wall, dirt crumbling right into her eyes. Unable to use her hands to brush it away just yet, she forced them shut, sucked in her gut, and used both palms to drag her body up through the other side.

           Upon breaching surface she rubbed at the dirt, scratching her nose in the process. To dispel any fallout, she blinked rapidly, then opened them to take stock of the cave she’d muscled her way into.

           The bulging glare that met hers was milky, one eye deflated like a long forgotten party balloon. Hot, rotted breath blasted against her lips and up both nostrils.

           Unprepared and ambushed, she reeled back, and let loose an ungodly scream.


	3. Chapter 3

           It’d already watched her slither like a roach through the incline, taking in every second of her body pressed to the wet gravel with toothsome delight. When Sam, quick as always, attempted to slide back down from whence she came, the beast wrapped a spidery hand around her wrist and yanked her back out like a rag-doll. Her body caught the slope and twisted horrible, head tucking to her chest and sending a searing crack along the top notch of her spine. She was suddenly dizzy, a coppery taste bubbling deep in the back of her throat.  
  
  


           Of course it didn’t stop there. The wind that whizzed audibly past her good ear was freezing cold as the thing took an arm as long as two porch brooms and flung her into the middle of the open cavern. She impacted hard against the dirt, directly on her back. A wave of nausea took her as she watched it crouch low where it still stood, twisting its head nearly the entire way around to meet her eyes as she lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.  
  
  


           Sam stopped thinking. Stopped, in a moment of clawing panic, being smart about the situation. All she could think, was _wendigo. Wendigo, wendigo, wendigo._ Almost more surreal to weigh on her bloody tongue than to see.  
  
  


           Her hand flew to her gut as the air was reaped from it.  
  
  


           The second she moved, it was on her again. Chirping in insectoid shrieks and gasps for air, it scuttled towards her on all fours. There was no time to drag her throbbing body away. Those fingers, gnarled and terse like the knotted trees on the surface, twisted around the backpack strap across her chest and effortlessly hoisted her from the ground. Her head snapped again forwards, and this time, she did yelp in pain. Nose scrunched and her teeth grit past curled lips, she couldn’t help but turn her chin away from it’s face.  
  
  


           A lengthy, crusty, dirt caked fingernail traced the space from her brow all the way down to her chin. She held her breath against the horrible stench of it’s gaping mouth. Christ-- that eye, despite being shriveled and bruised like a worm infested eggplant, still twitched in effort of following the contours of her face.  
  
  


           It seemed to be… considering, something. What was left of it’s lips parted, and then that maw widened-- but the thing’s eyebrows pinched and it took another hand, gripping at it’s bottom jaw.  
  
  


           It suddenly yanked down hard on it’s own teeth. Once, then again. There was a definitive crunch from back in its mouth.  
  
  


           At first Sam was bewildered, watching it only inches away as it yanked and yanked against its own face. _Injuring_ itself.  
  
  


           Then, she realized. A slow-growing horror squeezed her heart dry.  
  
  


          _It was trying to open it’s mouth wide enough to swallow her whole. It’d been sizing her up._  
  
  


           She was going to begin thrashing again, but didn’t have time, before something slammed into the wendigo that held her with all the force of a freight train. Another wendigo? That terrible, haunting screech exploded overhead when her shoulder crashed with the dull thump of meat against the packed dirt below.  
  
  


           She pressed her hands over her ears, squeezing both eyes shut, but quickly opened them again. To be blind was torture-- she resolved that she'd rather see death coming.  
  
  


           But she was brought short, when she recognized the wendigo that’d bent itself protectively over her crumpled body.  
  
  


           His face was unlike anything she'd ever seen. _God, his face…_

 

           Josh Washington’s skin was leather. It fell over his bones too thickly, terse and stretching like tissue about to rip open over slick muscle. His hair was patchy along the back of his neck, but the mass of it was still thick, tangled in several places.

 

           His eyes were like milk. Not a film- just the iris, entirely colorless. Dead eyes. She nearly shuddered at the sight of them. Nearly.

 

           Don't move. God, don't move. Jesus.  
  
  


           Josh roared three times, chest inflating and then falling flat like an empty cavern beneath the rags that had been his ‘costume’, from that night. She felt his body brush hers with each breath, so terribly close without any elongated limbs. His cry was different from the other wendigo. It had a human groan to it, a nausea inducing undertone that was all too familiarly _him._ Two voices, layered on top of one another into a horrific, clashing symphony.  
  
  


           The other wendigo threw it’s head to the side in some show of offence, crushed eye lifting and then landing on it’s cheek with a wet slap. Irritated, the thing that was once her friend rose both hands, threatening to attack again. She realized that in his familiar, unchanged hands, he held it’s ear.  
  
  


           Sam clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle an exhale of relief as the rival creature shot mucus from it’s nostrils and chirped again, backing away. Surrender. Defeat.  
  
  


           Josh watched it go, corpse eyes unwavering and unblinking. A silence ate the intestines of the cave, devouring every whisper of dripping ice and moan of wind.  
  
  


           Then, his neck twisted, and his face snapped down to look at her.

 

           A survival reflex she'd prayed to forget kicked in. Lock your muscles, you know the drill. Whatever you do- _Do. Not. Move._

           His right eyelid looked at though he'd suffered some sort of stroke. It didn't blink, bottom lid drooping. His _mouth-_

 

           It hadn't been that long. Those _teeth,_ protruding like that of a lantern-fish from the corner of his mouth, had no business being there at all. It didn’t make sense, it’d only been a couple of months. There was too many of them, crammed in-between used to be his cheesy, comforting grin. On the right side of his face, the glistening muscle was exposed. As if someone had taken a blade and peeled off his cheek.  
  
  


           He didn’t seem to care whether he walked, or crawled on all fours, or slithered as he scrambled away from her and straightened his shoulders with a gentle cracking sound. He was tossing his chin from one side to the other, nose upwards. His eyebrows pinched.  
  
  
  
           At first, she couldn’t understand why he was blindly stumbling about, mutilated face all twisted.  
  
  


           He'd lost her.

 

           The impossible urge to run to him tore through Sam without mercy, ripping ribs from her chest in such a way that she was forced to yank in a breath. _Don't move. Don't move._  
  
  


           As if pulled by a string, his head tilted and jut forwards. He rose gently onto his feet, an animal scenting the air.  
  
  
           Then he fell again, shoulder-blades rising against the ripped flannel, and in an inhuman leap launched himself against the rafters above. Snarling, eyes rolling left to right, he slowly pulled himself away from the small room.  
  


           Silence. Horrible, ringing silence.

 

           Sam's eyes, which burned in a way she knew all too well, bulged. She took stock of the cavern once more. Was there any left? Was she- safe? It had all happened so quickly, and as she regained her wits, she knew all too well it could happen just as quickly again.

 

           It was unclear how long she lay there, stiff and slowly freezing, hands shoved into either side of her skull. Ten minutes? Maybe thirty? It felt like years. She made sure to map out a mental escape route back up the mine shafts before even thinking of moving again.  
  
  


           Had that been… Josh? Her Josh? She knew better than to fool herself into believing anything different. What… was he? Her throat felt too tight, recounting every torn feature. Mike had been wrong. They’d all been so, so wrong.  
  
  


          _Come on, Sammy. You need to move. You need to move now._  
  
  


           Shaking, her hands fell at last against the chilled rubble on the ground.

 

           And then he was upon her.  
  
  


           That grotesque tri-toned screech slammed against her frame so forcefully she was rolled over, and unwittingly, her own wail fell against the cave walls to join it.

 

           His face wasn't an inch from hers all at once, those bleached eyes boring into the meat behind her sockets. He’d been waiting. He was intelligent. Those god-awful teeth fell in crooked interstices over a gaping maw, full of strings of gore. Rotting gore. Something wet flew from between his lips and stuck to her cheek. Her eyes stung wildly, tears boiling water against her skin.  
  
  


           There was no chance to fight against his once warm arms, before his grip found her brightly colored tennis shoe, and he rocketed again into the rafters above. This time, with Sam in limp tow.

 

           The descent deeper into the impenetrable dark of the mines was a blur of pain and full impact collisions against walls and jutting splinters of wood. As he leaped from platform to platform, scuttling across walls and ceilings, she was thrown thoughtlessly into countless obstacles. Screaming was no use. Thrashing was no use. When her back split over a sharp rafter corner, it caused tension like a yo-yo going taught, and with a wet pop she felt her leg dislocate deep in the thigh. When this frustrated him and he yanked against her like a child with a stubborn leashed dog, her body was propelled forwards, plummeting far below.  
  


           He chased after her, but not before she was reintroduced to the uneven ground. As her shoulder was crushed upon impact and her temple thwacked likewise, Sam exhaled shakily.  
  
  


           Overcome with injury and convulsing, she allowed herself to sink into the dark as it rose up to meet her, slipping into unconsciousness just as the wendigo that was once Josh crouched overhead to inspect her body.


	4. Chapter 4

           “Shit, Jesus, oh fucking shit.  _ Christ _ .”   
  
           Mike was having a bad morning. Now, he was a pretty easy going sort of guy. For the most part. It took a lot to make him admit that he was having a bad morning. For him, morning was a time to take a shower and preen and look at himself for thirty minutes in a mirror. As previously stated, a good time.   
  
           However, this particular morning? Not going quite as planned.   
  
           For starters, he’d just been told Sam was not back. See, this was bad news. Because that meant he’d been right, last night. And while it was usually pretty awesome always being right, he’d hoped to be wrong.   
  
           “Mike, c-calm down, come on. We have to be level headed about this.”   
  
           “Level headed? Okay, yeah Chris, sure. Let me just sit down and meditate for a second.”  
  
           Chris was also having a bad morning, for mostly the same reasons. Sam had been gone for two days. The thought made his stomach churn. “Look, you don’t have to be an asshole.” He griped defensively, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re all freaked out.”  
  
           “So she didn’t drop by last night?”   
  
           “No, I swear. Ash keeps saying she’s probably hiking her feelings out.”   
  
           Mike didn’t have the nerve to laugh. He crossed the living room of his apartment, into the kitchen, busying himself with opening and shutting the fridge. Slowing, he rest a hooked elbow out on the top of the door. “...Does she believe it?”   
  
           On his end, Chris cast a glance to Ash from across the room. She sat on the couch, staring out of the window, legs folded beneath her like a flighty bird. More quietly, he answered, “No. I don’t think so.”  
  
           Mike cursed again. Shut the refrigerator with almost all of his weight. The sad, frumpy potted plant on top of it rattled, and he was just barely quick enough to catch it before it shattered over his big toe.   
  
           “You okay?”   
  
           His laugh was nothing short of bullshit. “What? Yeah. It was- a neighbor. This isn’t about me, can we focus?”  
  
           Yeesh, this dude was a piece of work. Chris may not have ever hated Mike, but he didn’t exactly adore him, either. He’d always been closer to Josh. Best bros.   
  
           Which brought up the fact that Mike had said nothing about his oldest friend being left to rot with some monster in the bottom of the mines. Abruptly, he said, “You should have told us.”   
  
           Mike went quiet, behind the receiver. He must be thinking. When he spoke, it was gentle. “This is exactly why I didn’t.”   
  
           “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”  
  
           He didn’t like that he was right. Josh didn’t deserve that, no matter what Mike, or Ashley, or anyone thought. No matter what the police thought, or Josh’s parents.   
  
           That was his best bro. He’d been sick. And frankly, knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d abandoned him.  
  
           It was Mike that broke the ironclad silence between them. “...You think she went back for him?”  
  
           “Knowing Sam? No question about it.”  
  
           Mike didn’t know what to say, so he was just honest. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
           Yeah, that’s about how Chris felt. That lodge, that mountain, had nearly broke him. It’d destroyed his friend group, and his sense of safety. He’d watched a man’s head slide from his neck not three feet away, because  _ he _ couldn’t stay still.  
  
           It’d laid claim to his dreams. His loathing. His youth.   
  
           Finally, he rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “She could be dead.” On the couch, several feet away, Ashley bristled. More quietly, he continued, “we need to tell the others. This concerns all of us.”   



End file.
